


The Thread that Binds Us

by asylon



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Bromance, Car Bombs, Gen, psychotic perps, serial murders, weird how life works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asylon/pseuds/asylon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gruesome serial murder case brings both Dorian's and John's pasts just a little closer together--closer than what either of them would have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Almost Human or any of its characters. All typos and mistakes belong to me. I'm too impatient to do a thorough proofread, sorry. :/ 
> 
> This story started as a comment fic response to a prompt on almosthumantv group on LJ that kind of morphed and snowballed into something else. The original prompt was as follows: "I would love to see both John and Dorian separately confronting Maldonado about why they were assigned to each other. And whatever it is that she reveals makes them both look at their partner in a new light." Except now, Maldonado does a lot less and Rudy does a lot more talking. Not quite on target, but I think it should still make for a fun read.
> 
> Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms appreciated, as always!

“No, you can’t take me off of this case!” John’s voice rose, as he jumped from the chair and leaned over across the table.

Sandra Maldonado sighed and nodded to the chair, “Sit down, John.” Her voice was firm, conveying that her request was non-negotiable. Her eyes flickered momentarily over to Dorian, who was standing quietly by the door with a look of concern on his face.

Slowly sinking back into his chair, he growled, “You can’t take me off this case.”

“Just listen to yourself, John. You are already too emotionally invested in this case and we have barely even begun,” Maldonado shook her head, “and when you lose that objectivity, that’s when you start making stupid mistakes--the kind of mistakes that gets a good detective killed.” She was baiting him on purpose to react and he knew it. This was a test. John held his breath. They exchanged a long and silent glance that spoke volumes on the elephant in the room that neither of them wanted to address. 

“Let Detective Paul handle this case.”

John’s jaw was tense as he considered his options. “Sandra, please,” he tried to relax his features, “you know how important this is to me.” Their eyes locked. “I know this case inside and out, better than anyone here, and you know it. This is the first solid lead we had in almost a decade. We can’t afford to waste time on this. Every extra minute that guy is out there is another minute he could kill someone else.” He leaned forward in his chair earnestly, pleading with his eyes. “Let me do this, Sandra. I am not a rookie anymore. I promise, I won’t make you regret it.”

Maldonado rubbed her forehead for a moment, contemplating the risks, silently hoping that she wasn’t making a mistake with the call she was about to make. When she finally looked up, she was looking at Dorian as she addressed him. “I fully expect you to watch out for your partner on this case. Keep me updated on your progress. If you have reason to believe that Detective Kennex is compromised in his ability to make sound judgments, pull him out,” she eyed John carefully, “using any means necessary, even if you have to physically restrain him. Is that clear?”

“Of course.”

John made an exasperated noise. “Wait a minute! You’re not letting Dorian run point on this.”

“No,” Maldonado’s tone reflected her look of amusement, “I trust Dorian to make sure that your hard-headedness doesn’t get you into too much trouble. If you have a problem with that arrangement, we can still get Detective Paul to head this case.”

John gave her an incredulous look before huffing out a reluctant acknowledgement. He got up and reached for the glass door, not wasting the opportunity to send a scathing scowl at Dorian who merely responded with his trademark half-smile.

“John,” Maldonado called out as the pair left her office, “go catch that bastard.”

###

The crime scene photos of the victims still made John’s stomach turn every time he looked at them. Even eight years apart, the similarities between the two crimes them were strikingly similar, down to gory details. Both victims were pregnant teens coming from lower socioeconomic status, in the early phases of their third trimester, and chronic drug abusers in spite of it all. Even their appearance were similar: dark blondes, average height, and petite. The causes of death were both exsanguination due to extensive internal trauma and organ removal. “Trauma” was just the clinical way of describing a macabre abortion procedure that left a foot long gash in their belly and a vacant cavity where the in utero fetus used to be. Ligature marks and lacerations around the wrists, ankles, and neck were a livid purple indicating that the victims had been at least been awake and struggling. They bodies were then wrapped carefully in a white bedsheet before being left in front of the front doorsteps of a Catholic church. 

“What kind of a maniac are you?” John muttered under his breath.

Dorian looked up briefly from the surveillance footages he was reviewing. “Based on the psychiatric profile they built for the case from eight years ago, it is likely someone who would like to make sure these babies are never born.”

“Yeah, I know, someone who is trying to prevent these babies from being born into the life that he likely grew up in.” John rubbed his face. “But why go after these particular women? Two murders, eight years apart. What’s the chance that this could be copycat?”

Dorian started to say something but trailed off suddenly as his face lit up in trickles of blue, the corners of his lips curving into a smile.

John jumped to his feet. “What is it?”

“The ME report just came in. Lucky for us, our victim, 19 year old Haley Kendricks, quite literally fought her attacker tooth and nail. The found trace amounts of epithelium under her fingernails with trauma to the nail bed, like someone had deliberately tried to scrape it clean. Not enough to run a DNA analysis, but then they thought to swab her teeth. As it turns out, she must have bit her attacker in self defense at some point and drew blood. They were able to run the residual for DNA and we got a hit.” Dorian pulled the profile onto a holographic display and pushed it toward John. “Meet Jeremy Morris.”

In the booking photograph, Jeremy was shockingly young. A wisp of a boy in his late teens, with a mop of unkempt shaggy dark blonde hair, pale skin, high cheekbones, with a slight hint of facial hair shadowing his jawline. The standard issue orange jumpsuit for inmates was far too large on his thin frame. His eyes were a dull brown and rimmed with dark circles as if he hadn’t slept for days. His face was the mask of impassivity.

“He was arrested eight years ago for assaulting his then pregnant girlfriend. He was 17 at the time. He pleaded guilty to the charges and served five years in prison and was subsequently released on parole for good behavior, the terms of which he completed without any issue as of nine months ago.” Dorian scrolled through a parallel screen. “His current whereabouts are unknown. There are no residential or utility accounts listed under his name in the area. I am expanding the search to interstate databases.”

“Arrested eight years ago,” John mused, “that would explain the dormancy period between the two murders. What about the girlfriend? Would we be able to talk to her?”

“Alicia Martinez, 25 years old,” Dorian pulls up an image of Alicia’s driver’s license--5’ 4”, 140 lbs, black hair and brown eyes with distinctly hispanic features. “Working as a waitress at a local diner. Home address appears up to date.”

“To the bat mobile, Robin. There’s not a moment to lose.” John had already shrugged on his jacket and was making his way to the elevator before Dorian could respond.

###

“Ok, what is it?” John pulls his cruiser up along the curb and kills the engine. He gave his partner a long hard look. “You’ve been spacing out on me the whole ride over and doing the Christmas tree thing with your face. Tell me.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

“I don’t know, man,” Dorian looked perplexed. “There is something that feels familiar that I’m trying to remember. Old bits of memories. It’s like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle in the dark and I’m not even sure I have all the pieces.”

“Fabulous, now I have an android partner who is going senile.” John didn’t know if he should be concerned or amused.

“Still doing better than you. You already are senile,” Dorian replied with a smirk and then shrugged casually as he peered through the driver side window, scanning the house for occupants. “Let’s go talk to Alicia. I think she’s inside.”

After the first five minutes, it was fairly evident to both of them that Alicia had no idea where Jeremy was. Her features hardened at just the mention of his name. 

“I hope to never see his face again,” she said with a touch a vehemence in her voice. “He was sweet when you first get to know him but once you spend a little more time with him, you know he isn’t quite...right. We dated for 3 months and he never tried to initiate anything physical. We kissed just once. I thought he was just shy or something at first, but it’s more than that. So after a month, I started seeing this other guy on the side.” 

She gave a bitter little laugh. “I wanted to tell Jeremy and break things off with him, but I was selfish and a coward. He just seemed like such a nice guy and I hated to hurt his feelings.” Her eyes darted across their faces as if anticipating judgement. “I mean, I was an emotional and hormonal 16 year old at the time and the situation with my folks wasn’t the best. The thing I had wanted the most was to feel wanted and loved by somebody and Jeremy gave me that … for a time.

“One stupid thing lead to the next, and then I got pregnant. I told Jeremy right after I found out and he just completely lost it. He just came after me, punching me and finally choking me like he wanted to kill me.” Her voice cracked and she trembeled a little at the recollection. “I managed to get him on the back of the head with a desk lamp and escaped to a neighbor’s house to call 911.”

“I am very sorry about what happened to you,” Dorian said softly after a brief silence.

Alicia sniffled and offered a slight shake of her head, “I was so scared when I learned that he had been let out on parole early, despite their assurance that he was a changed man. Afraid that he would come after me and my son, Isaac. But it’s been almost three years year, so I guess no news is good--” She broke off with a start and stared at them wide eyed. “Wait, is that what this is about? Are we in danger? What happened?”

John and Dorian exchanged a quick glance before John raised both of his hands in a placating gesture, “Just calm down. We’re working on another case at the moment and we actually just need to find him and ask him a few questions. We were trying to see if he was still living in the area.”

“What case? Did he kill someone?” There was a frantic edge to her voice.

Dorian shook his head and said in a soothing tone, “I’m sorry Ms. Martinez, we can’t tell you any information about the cases we are currently working on.” He offered an encouraging smile. “Do you live alone?”

“I--uh,” she blinked, as if startled by the question. “No, I live here with my fiancée and my son, Isaac. He’s at school right now.”

“Great,” Dorian nodded and passed her their card, “please feel free to call us if you notice anything out of the ordinary. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”

She nodded mutely.

“Yeah, thanks,” John echoed as he gave Dorian a critical sidelong glance before turning around and heading back to the car.

###

John drummed the steering wheel impatiently as he sat in the aneurysm inducing afternoon rush hour traffic, half contemplating the inappropriate use of his police siren and lights just to speed things up a little.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dorian said knowingly.

“What are you now? A mind reader? You don’t even know what what I was or was not thinking about!”

“The traffic,” Dorian nodded to train of red tail lights. “Getting back to the precinct faster won’t help us solve this case faster. We still don’t have any solid leads.”

John sighed, “Ok, what about the parole officer? Long shot, but maybe he would have an idea where Jeremy was headed.”

“No,” Dorian shook his head.

“And how would you know?”

Dorian looked at John like he was trying to explain something obvious to a five year old, “Because while you were taking your time at that taco truck, I took the liberty of calling Jeremy’s parole officer to inquire whether or not he would have anything on his whereabouts. The only thing he could tell me was that Jeremy was an exemplary parolee and followed everything to the letter.”

“And you somehow neglected to tell me this, because … ?”

“Because, I didn’t think it would be relevant.” Dorian shrugged, fixing his eyes on the plate barcode in front of them. “Just another dead end.”

“Damn it, Dorian!” John slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, “I don’t care what you think is or is not relevant. We’re partners. It’s your job to tell me everything.”

“Just like you told me why you’re so interested in taking this case? Why Captain Maldonado took you off of it in the first place and why you practically begged her to let you back on?

The accusatory tone in Dorian’s voice was not lost on John. He frowned. “You were at the crime scene with me. You saw what happened to those women. It’s sick.” It was a weak excuse and he knew it.

“John, I read the full case report from 8 years ago,” Dorian turned and held John’s gaze firmly. “Your father was working this case when he was killed in a vehicle explosion.”

John shifted his eyes back to the road and tried to sound indifferent, “Yeah?”

“An investigation was conducted, but they ended up ruling it as an accident based on the fact they couldn’t find evidence to indicate foul play. You think the case had something to do with his accident.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Dorian leaned back into car seat, fixing his gaze on the road ahead as well. “They said the vehicle was traveling at a high rate of speed on the highway. There was the possible implication of a fuel line leak, but much of the vehicle was too badly damaged to provide conclusive evidence. His partner wasn’t riding with him at the time and he didn’t tell anyone where he was going or where he was coming from.”

John was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles blanched. “You didn’t see what I saw, ok? It was not a simple ‘accident’.” John bit off the last word, hating the sound of it. He stared ahead blindly, not really wanting to have this conversation, but somehow the words just fell out of his mouth. “I was the first responder to the scene, just three blocks out. The car was engulfed in flames--an upside down mangled mess in the side of the highway. It was so hot, you couldn’t get within ten feet of it without feeling the heat licking your skin. It took the fire crew 12 minutes to arrive and another 20 minutes to put out the fire, and by then all that was left was just a burnt out metal shell and ashes and … “ He didn’t want to finish the rest of his sentence. “I knew he was gone before I ever got there.”

“John, I’m sorry for your loss,” Dorian said quietly after a moment of silence that was a little too long to be comfortable.

“Yeah, well, you can’t change the past,” John said abruptly. He hated being weak just as much as he hated pity, and right now, he was having a hefty dose of both. “Right now, the only thing we can do, and _must_ do, is to catch the SOB killing these women and make him pay.”

“John,” Dorian said suddenly, “they were all pregnant, including Alicia. Both victims were in their third trimester, which means they all would have needed prenatal care.” He tilted his head slightly, circuit lights coming to life as he queried the police database.

John caught on immediately, “Haley was being seen by an family planning clinic run by the county.”

Dorian nodded in agreement. “I have an address.”

The police siren was already blaring before he finished speaking. John spared Dorian a quick glance, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Let’s move.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t think I have ever seen him here before,” the nurse shook her head slowly as she studied the photo of Jeremy from John’s phone. “Based on what we have noted in her chart, Haley always came by herself. We have surveillance videos of the front lobby if you wish to check yourself. Her last appointment was last week, one of the last ones of the day.”

“Would there have been anyone she interacted here besides the doctor and the nurses?”

The nurse pressed her lips together thoughtfully, “Besides the doctor, nurses, receptionist, maybe other patients while she was waiting in the lobby, I can’t imagine she would be interacting with anyone else here. Our custodial staff doesn’t come in to do their cleaning until after clinic hours.”

“How did Haley feel about her child? Can you tell us anything?”

The nurse glanced at John and smiled sadly, “Haley was worried, of course, but she was firm from the very beginning that she wished to keep him, even though her ex-boyfriend, the baby’s father wanted nothing to do with the child. She spoke about how she wanted to try and turn her life around so she could be a positive influence in his life because she didn’t want the State to take him away from her. As far as her lifestyle was concerned, she said she had been getting better with the county rehab program, but acknowledges that things were far from perfect.”

“So she knew the gender of the baby?” Dorian asked.

She nodded. “Yes, she even had a name picked out.” 

“Would we be able to speak with the attending physician who saw Haley last week?”

The nurse nodded, “If you will wait a few minutes. She’s with her last patient of the day and should be out soon.”

In the end however, the doctor, pleasant as she was, was only able to reaffirm what the nurse had told them already and was unable to provide any new insight nor did she recognize Jeremy’s photo. Half an hour later, John and Dorian found themselves back in the car, again at a loss for leads.

“Well, if anything, there is a consistent pattern emerging.” Dorian concluded as he shut passenger door and settled into the car seat. “Male fetuses in both cases. Alicia also had a boy. Still might be a coincidence though.” He surveyed the sparse parking lot. The were one of only three cars left: a silver sedan belonging presumably to the doctor who was still finishing up her notes and a small utility van bearing the logo for “Capital Environmental Services” and neat bold letters advertising their cleaning and commercial waste management services.

“Doesn’t get us closer to Jeremy though,” John grumbled as he fired up the car. The engined trembled to life before settling into its characteristic hum. “What are we missing?”

“I can tell you what _you_ are missing,” Dorian said with a straight face, “functional brain cells.”

John responded hard left turn with sufficient violence to cause the wheels to squeal and also to toss Dorian against the passenger door as he exited the parking lot.

“Hey, I’m just telling it as I see it,” Dorian retorted in mock indignation.

“Yeah…?” John was unamused. “You know what you are missing? An off switch.”

Dorian wisely chose to ignore the last comment. He glanced in John’s direction. “Seriously though, you’re doing a whole lot of brooding and very little thinking. You’re missing the big picture.”

“All right, Know-It-All. Do share. What am I missing?”

“Perspective. You’re getting too obsessed about finding Jeremy that you’re not thinking like him,” Dorian explained. “The fact of the matter is, the best detectives also tend to make the best criminals, should they set their mind to pursuing the wrong side of the law.”

“What are you suggesting exactly?” John stared ahead, suddenly thankful the roads are less congested than before. “And just for the record, I don’t need a primer from you on how to be a detective.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe we can start from the beginning,” Dorian suggested. “If you were a 17 year old being sent to prison with his kind of psych profile what would you have done?”

“I’d be worried about getting beat up in prison, especially a scrawny kid like him.” John replied automatically. “I’d have to prove that I’m not a pushover and possibly have valuable skill or assets if I want protection from a prison gang, but those alliances are dicey at best.” John stopped talking. He was suddenly seeing where this could lead.

“What have you got?” asked Dorian.

“We have to get back to the precinct,” John said hurriedly as he switched on his police sirens and maneuvered himself into the fast lane. “I can’t believe this! We’re looking for the wrong Jeremy. He’s not a 17 year old kid anymore. He would have totally re-invented himself by this point. Alicia’s perception of him was in total contrast to his violent tendencies. He had won over the parole board and got glowing remarks from the parole officer--he presents himself as what people wish to see in him. He knows how to blend in. I wouldn’t be surprised if the parole officer doesn’t even recognize him even if they pass each other on the street.”

“We have the surveillance videos from the clinic,” Dorian added. “Given the present pattern involving male fetuses, that is the most plausible place to start. We have a more recent photo of him from when he was released for parole. We’ll have to to run a first order facial morphometry algorithms with an aging regressor. All the other variable like height, build, and hair color are all likely to be even more misleading if we include them.” 

“Face maker?” wondered John.

“Unlikely, because it is an expensive piece of tech,” Dorian responded. “But even if that is the case, I still wouldn’t worry too much about it until we have had a look through the videos first. Face makers usually operate at a couple of characteristic frequencies. We could resample the surveillance videos to see if we can pick out any aliasing artifacts, which would indicate a face maker being used.”

“Right,” John agreed absently as he floored the accelerator.

They barely made it two miles down the expressway before their police cruiser exploded from the rear in a ball of orange flames and angry black smoke. The force of the explosion was enough to launch the car into a midair somersault, before coming down to earth like a fireball with the sickening crunch of shatter glass and twisted metal. The car skidded on its roof for a good ten feet before careening into the center divide.

Time slowed down for John as he felt the engine shudder and choke, even as they hurtled along at close to 80 miles an hour. Dorian had muttered something as his facial circuits flashed its telltale blue, but he didn’t quite catch it before the rear end of the car erupted in a deafening explosion. His world went silent as the vehicle tumbled into empty space. He caught Dorian out of the corner of his eye, moving in his direction. Shards of glass were suspended in midair for one brief instant, as if caught in the middle of a carefully choreographed dance sequence, before shattering their crystalline formation and started to flying toward him like a thousand tiny teeth, ready to nip at his skin. He reflexively closed his eyes and turned to shield his face with his left arm.

He felt hands on him. Strong hands--Dorian’s hands. They gripped his shoulders, pulling him toward his chest plate while simultaneously pinning him against against the backrest. He could feel the cool polyester fabric of Dorian’s coat pressed against his cheek even as the rest of his torso was held crushing embrace, his left shoulder wedged into an uncomfortable angle. He wanted to yell at Dorian to protect himself too, but he was being held so tightly that he could barely breathe much less talk. That stubborn android partner of his probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

When they finally came back down to earth, the force of impact was bone crushing. There was a sickening crunch that seemed both metallic and organic all at once. He felt the force of the impact against his face, but he wasn’t sure if it was Dorian’s spine that just got crushed by the steering column or maybe it was the steering column that just got crushed by Dorian’s superhuman spine. He hoped it was the latter. They bounced once and then collided with something hard. John’s head swam from the impact. 

Whatever feeble breaths he could draw was made painful by the sharp sting of searing smoke and chemical fumes that left him in a coughing fit. His ears were ringing and there was a sticky warmness trickling down his neck. Blood, perhaps. His whole body was tingling and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was upside down or right side up. Things should hurt more, he noted, but everything just felt so surreal that his brain hasn’t caught up to it. Like that time when his leg vaporized and yet the first thing that crossed his mind was the wayward thought that his leg suddenly felt lighter as he rolled onto his back. The pain didn’t come until much later, in fact, months later.

From a distance, his heard his father’s voice, calling out to him. His chest and lungs were on fire. Cold seeped through his veins before taking up residence in his limbs, making them leaden and numb. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that suddenly wracked his body. In this particular instant, he was just a boy and they were back out on that frozen lake. Ice fishing. His father sounded urgent, demanding almost, trying to pry him away from the comfort of his mind fog. He liked it here better, in the numbness, where nothing bad could reach him.

“John! Stay with me!” his father demanded again, more insistently this time, cradling his face, “You’re not alone. Just keep breathing and stay with me. Everything will be just fine. I promise. Help is on the way.” His father sounded hoarse all of a sudden. “I need you here. We all need you here.”

“Dad …” John wanted to tell him to stop worrying, but all that came out of his mouth was another fit of coughs. He was tired. A nap would be nice. Just a quick little nap to make this brain fog go away. He tried to open his eyes, but even that seemed to take too much effort. The last thing that John saw was the fleeting image of Dorian’s face, hovering just inches above him, with a look of worry written all over his features. John always hated that look on his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in getting this part posted and sorry for ending in a teensy bit of cliffhanger, but I couldn't resist. The third and final part is almost done, so I'll be posting that very soon. Once again, I'd love to hear your comments and suggestions. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I will be disappointing anyone who is looking for a true murder mystery, because I did wrap things up rather quickly here. Maybe that could be a different fic for a later time. But really, isn't the question of why Dorian is special a much better mystery to explore? :P Ok, on to chapter 3, as promised! A very short epilogue to follow as well.

_A cold mist enveloped his body, clinging to his hair and jacket, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his breaths come out in little white puffs. It took John a few moments to realize that he was still on his back, staring into an endless expanse of gray sky. His fingers curled around something powdery and cold--snow and ice. Grunting with effort, he tried to sit up, but everything was heavier than it should be and the smooth sheet of ice below him was not helping. Breathing hard, he settled for propping himself up on his elbows as he surveyed his surroundings, taking stock of his situation. He quickly realized that he wasn’t going to get anywhere anytime fast without his apparently missing synthetic leg._

_The soft crunch of boots nearby against the snow covered ice let him know that he wasn’t alone. “Hello?” He ventured tentatively, trying to detect any features through the fog. No response._

_The approaching footsteps was slow and measured and somehow familiar. It stopped beside him and John inhaled sharply as the mist pulled back to reveal the visitor’s face._

_“Dad …” He was suddenly breathless._ This is impossible.

_“John.” A smile and then he crouched down on one knee to look into his son’s face, eye to eye._

_“This isn’t real,” John whispered._

_A chuckle, “What’s reality anyway? This is as real as you wish it to be.”_

_“You …” John shivered, but it was only partly due to the cold, “Am I … dead?”_

_“I am,” his father responded almost glibly, an easy smile gracing his face. “Still not your time yet, though.”_

_“Then all of this? Where am I?”_

_“Lake McFarland, from the looks of it.”_

_“I don’t understand.” John slowly lowered himself back down, suddenly exhausted. He stared up at his father’s face, a grizzled beard, short cropped peppered hair, and a pair wire framed bifocals perched on his nose. It was the same look that he had worn every day for the last 10 years of his life, down to the crumpled shirt collar that was tucked haphazardly under his coat._

_“We are here because you need me here to remind you of something important. Something you’ve apparently forgotten.”_

_“And what would that be?” John asked, watching his breath evaporate as little white clouds, mesmerized._

_“You’re not happy, son,” his father said matter-of-factly, his smile fading._

_“That’s not true,” John answered reflexively, suddenly feeling defensive. “I am perfectly happy.”_

_“Is that so?” Another dry chuckle. “Is what you tell yourself when you fall asleep at night?”_

_“What is that supposed to mean?” John was incredulous._

_“I’m your father, remember?” A wink this time. “Do you want to know what your problem is, son?”_

_John groaned loudly. “Oh no. Not this again. Not you too.”_

_“He’s right you know.” His father quirked an eyebrow in amusement._

_“He?”_

_“Dorian. He is right,” he father replied, his expression growing serious. “You don’t trust people because you don’t know yourself anymore after all that had happened. You don’t know what you know and you don’t know what you don’t know. You second guess everything, every decision, every relationship, every interaction, whether you realize it or not. You think you can be a one man judge, jury, and executioner, but you’re not. You’re not infallible. No one is. You have to learn to let the past go and start living in the present. It’s good for you.”_

_“You’re taking his side?”_

_His father shook his head, “We’re all on the same side, don’t forget that. Dorian is on your side too and he understands you far better than you think.”_

_“Right, trust the robot.”_

_“John.” A sad little reproving smile this time. “I am not telling you who to trust. I am telling you that there are certain people in this life that you have to trust. The consequence of not trusting is...not worth it, that much I do know.”_

_They were both quiet for a long time, as if both were trying to make sense of this moment._

_His father finally broke the silence. “Well, as much as I’d like to do this forever, you have other places to be.”_

_“Is this goodbye?” John frowned._

_A shrug. “Not necessarily. I’m here.” He tapped the side of his head and grinned. “I’m closer than you think, you know.”_

_John wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing._

_“Do you trust your old man, John?” His father stood up and extended a hand, as if in an offer to help him up. His eyes twinkled._

_John glanced at the offered hand and smiled. He reached up and the two locked grips. “Of course.”_

John woke to the steady beep of a heart monitor along with a relentless pounding in his head, made only worse by the blurry lights glaring down at him from the ceiling. His right fingers were held tightly around something firm and warm. He squeezed his hand and felt the gesture being returned almost immediately. Someone else was holding his hand. He blinked, trying to tease out the thin line between reality and illusions. Rolling his head to the right, his vision slowly focused on Dorian’s face, or rather what was left of Dorian’s face. The skin on the entire left side of his face was paper thin and translucent such that all of his wiring and circuitry were plainly visible underneath, giving his face an eerie violet glow. The right side of his face was covered in dozens upon dozens of tiny cuts. 

“John?”

“Yeah,” John choked out before surrendering to a set of coughs. 

His right hand was released and a sipping straw suddenly found its way to his lips. His hand closed around the empty air, suddenly missing the comforting touch. He took a few sips before grabbing the bottle himself and placing it back on the small table beside the bed. 

“You look like crap,” John rasped hoarsely.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You aren’t exactly Sleeping Beauty yourself, you know. Rib contusions, dislocated shoulder, concussion, scalp laceration, second degree burns, smoke inhalation …” Dorian trailed off.

John cleared his throat with a brisk huff. “What are you talking about? I look like a million bucks.”

“Right, and I’ll go ahead and add ‘delusional’ to your chart.” 

John snorted derisively. His chest then lodged a sharp complaint against the excessive rib cage motion, causing him to wince.

Dorian’s face grew serious all of a sudden. “Do you remember anything? The explosion?” He was leaning forward and staring intently into John’s face, no doubt to take in his vitals and check his pupillary light reflexes.

John cocked his head and froze, “Jeremy.” The dots were suddenly connecting in his head. “The cleaning company. He planted the bomb.” John flailed at the bedsheets in an attempt to climb out of bed. “He’s working as a janitor in the clinic.” It took him another second to realize his ribs were throbbing painfully, his left arm was held in a sling, and his synthetic leg was not attached.

Dorian placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down on to the bed. “Easy there. Detective Paul arrested him at the clinic shortly after our accident. That was yesterday evening. As it turned out, he acquired some fake identity papers and was living under a different name. To top it all off, he had shaved his head, added on a pair of glasses, and packed on another 50 pounds of muscle since he finished parole. He would have been a hard to recognize for anyone. Lucky for us though, he already confessed to the murders and car bombings during the initial exam and is currently undergoing a thorough psychological evaluation. They’re thinking that he was having some pretty serious and untreated psychotic episodes. The trial won’t be for months.”

John looked down and noticed the exposed wiring and circuitry on Dorian’s hand, in areas where his skin had been burned or severely abraded. There was a waxy purple substance had started to crust around the edges of the wounds. _Do androids bleed?_ “The bomb.” John whispered, having a hard time taking his eyes off of Dorian’s hand.

“He had attached it to the fuel tank with a temperature sensitive trigger and a small ignitor charge.” Dorian explained simply, quickly retracting his hand.

John nodded and relaxed against the pillow. “You should probably go see Rudy about some repairs.”

“He had personally come to the hospital to start on some repairs for me. I’ll be fine.” Dorian said softly.

“When can I go home?” John wondered.

“Probably soon,” Dorian responded after slight pause. “You’ll need to stay at least overnight for observation. All things considered though, it could have been a lot worse.”

John was silent as he turned to look at Dorian, their eyes locking instantly. Nobody said anything for the longest time. Finally, John tentatively reached out with his good hand from under the blanket. Dorian caught it and covered it with both of his own. John squeezed Dorian’s hand meaningfully. 

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” John cleared his throat again, a little more dramatically this time. “But, thank you.” _For saving my life. For being here. For being my partner. For everything._

Dorian’s face morphed into a smile. “Partners. It’s what we do.” He paused. “And … you’re welcome.”

The moment of lucidity passed all too quickly for John and his eyelids suddenly felt heavy again. “Shouldn’t you go charge up or something?” He could hear his speech slur a little toward the end.

“I will. Soon.” Dorian promised, still holding on to John’s now limp hand.

“Good,” John breathed out softly before his eyes fluttered shut and fell fast into a dreamless sleep.

###

“Rudy!” The voice was loud and disconcerting. It was followed by limping footsteps punctuated by the sharp staccato of a cane or perhaps a crutch.

Rudy reflexively ducked, and dropped the tweezer he was holding with a clatter against the stainless steel tray. He was not expecting any visitors, and especially not an angry, pissed off, sounding John Kennex who was only discharged from the hospital a day prior.

“Here,” he managed to sound irritated, pushing the magnifying glasses off of his head as he stood up from his stool. “What is it bloody this time? Do you know how much over time I’ve had to put in to fix Dorian up? He is an incredibly complex work of art, not crash test dummy.” He straightened his back and absently pushed at a stray lock of blond hair that tickled his cheek as he turned around. If he was going to face a pitbull, he might as do it with his head held high. Besides, he had been itching to lodge a few complaints of his own.

John stopped a few feet short feet from Rudy, his face twisted in a bewildered expression, as beads of perspiration glistened against his forehead. His breath came in heavy pants and he was leaning against the crutch slotted under his right arm. His left hand, still safely nestled in a sling, was clutching a small scrap of paper, perhaps the size of an index card. “Rudy.” John repeated, with no trace of anger in his voice, this time. “I need your help.”

“Well, um, all right,” Rudy was stammering, suddenly unsure how to respond. “Your leg’s been bothering you?”

“No, I mean yes, but that’s not why I’m here,” John shook his head, and tried to slow his thoughts. “My leg had to get repaired. This is just a temporary thing.” He made a face of displeasure. “Doesn’t really bend well at the knee though.”

“Um, ok,” Rudy said slowly, “W-would you like to sit down then?” He motioned to the stool beside him.

John let out a long breath and nodded silently. He pushed the small scrap of paper into Rudy’s hand as he walked by, before perching himself on the edge of the stool, as comfortably as his stiff leg would allow.

“What’s this?” Rudy said quietly as he looked down at the paper in his hand. In was an old printed photograph, the colors having faded over the years with a dull yellow tint. There were slight crinkles around the edges, but still relatively well preserved. He recognized the scene almost immediately--in fact he even remembered standing on the other side of the camera, pressing the shutter. “Where did you get this?”

“In a shoebox. Stuff from my Dad’s house that I saved after he passed. Never got to look at them till now.” John replied, peering at Rudy’s face inquisitively.

“It’s old.” Rudy said stupidly, not sure if he even wanted to broach this subject with John.

John nodded to the photo. “On the back.”

Rudy flipped the the paper over and on the back was a brief handwritten inscription. _Dorian - 2038._

“Do you know anything about the photo?” John’s eyes flickered up and pinned Rudy down with an intense look. “Because it looks like your lab in the background.”

Rudy tugged at his shirt collar, his necktie suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. He cleared his throat nervously. “Perhaps. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” said John flatly. “Is that my father with Dorian?”

Rudy looked back down at the picture. John’s father was standing shoulder to shoulder with a prototype synthetic, his left arm casually slung around the android’s shoulder. His father was grinning widely and the android was smiling too, albeit somewhat stiffly. The android had no distinctive facial features to speak of, no hair, no eyebrows, utterly androgenous with no distinctive skin tone beside the default pearlescent fleshy pink coating that did little to hide the complex circuitry and mechanical parts at the movable joints and completely opaque elsewhere. He looked closer to an animated storefront mannequin than anything else, really.

Rudy merely nodded.

“My Dorian?”

Another slight nod.

John raised a hand abruptly. “All right, Rudy, I don’t have the time or the patience to play 101 questions with you. So please, start talking. I am not leaving here until I get the whole story.”

Rudy swallowed nervously and licked his suddenly dry lips. He stared at John, long and hard, trying to figure out how or where to start. “The truth is, the MX AI system is a much inferior program, and is only a fraction of the complexity of the Synthetic Soul. As far as AI developments are concerned, they should be in every sense considered a downgrade from the DRN series. The Synthetic Soul system is really the closest we’ve ever gotten in replicating a truly _human_ artificial intelligence.” Rudy paused and addressed John directly, “Do you know why that is?”

John shook his head.

“After years of failed attempts of trying to create a truly human-like AI platform, we realized that we were going about the problem the wrong way. Why bother reinventing the wheel from scratch when we have all the necessary elements right under our nose?” Rudy was pacing at this point, completely ignoring John, his hands gesturing vividly as he spoke. “An organic brain is not necessarily all that different from its synthetic counterpart. It’s still neuronal circuits and electric discharges communicating from one part of the organ to the next. Our approach with the Synthetic Soul was to simply create a carbon copy of a complete human brain, so to speak, without trying to recreate it piece by piece.” 

John knit his brows, suddenly not liking the direction this explanation is going.

“The DRN series for which the Synthetic Soul was to be deployed as law enforcement agents, so the natural template for us to start from would be another police officer.” Rudy slowed and turned to look at John. “Your father happened to be one of the individuals we solicited and he was happy to volunteer for the project.”

 _We’re designed to be cops._ Dorian had said that on multiple occasions. John let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “What are you trying to say?”

“We extracted a copy of your father’s cortical and subcortical engrams and connectivity matrix and then replicated them in the DRN neural circuitry. Your father’s logical patterns, emotive patterns, reflexive semiology, are all precisely replicated within the Synthetic Soul.” Rudy stopped pacing and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. He swallowed hard. “Dorian was the first successful prototype model that got the green light for production. All the other DRN units are based off of Dorian’s final AI architecture.”

John was no longer sitting down at this point. “Wait,” he stabbed a finger in the direction of frosted windows separating the lab from the outside world, “you’re saying that all those DRNs walking around out there running this Synthetic Soul program are actually copies of my father’s brain?”

“Something like that. Instinctively, they’ll react, think, and problem solve, much like you father would have.” Rudy ducked slightly and grimaced, “B-but they’re not really copies of your father.”

John shot him an expectant look.

“We were careful to avoid transferring engrams corresponding to episodic, semantic memories and had to recompile most of the procedural memories.” Rudy pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“Meaning?”

Rudy frowned. “Uh, th-the prototypes were basically blank slates. We had to teach them everything from the ground up just as if they were infants. That is, if infants had a fully matured central nervous systems and eidetic memories. Your father, actually, spent a lot of time with them, socializing them, interacting with them.” He clasped his hands together in front of his leather work apron, trying to keep from fidgeting. “Basically, they had his brain template but none of his memories.”

“Them? As in more than one?” John slowly sank back onto the stool.

“Well, since we were starting from clean slates, they had to learn almost everything from scratch. Kind of like being thrust into being an adult and acquire incredible amounts of information in the span of a few weeks without the luxury of going through ‘puberty’ or a ‘teenage’ phase, if you can imagine that. A lot of the earlier attempts were not all that successful, but by the time we got to Dorian, we had worked out most of the issues, and my goodness, he was perfection.” Rudy’s eyes took on a wistful look.

“Most of the issues?” John echoed curiously.

“Well, not truly issues. Residual memories that were piggybacked on certain strong emotions. Kind of like how you might flashback to a previously similar incident when encountering an emotionally salient trigger. When they encounter these rather unpredictable triggers, it frequently results in an erratic and unexpected response.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Is that why the DRNs are crazy?”

Rudy gave him a disapproving look. “Again, not exactly the term I would use or agree with. It’s normal for you and I to react in that same unpredictable manner.” Rudy crossed his arms, as if to make a statement. “But the unfortunate truth is, society is not ready to accept bots that are as human and as unique and spontaneous an-and fragile as you and I. The DRNs are not crazy. If they are, then we all are crazy.”

John rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Why has no one told me any of this before?”

Rudy approached John and placed the photograph carefully on the workbench. “You were such an angry person when you came out of your coma. The captain didn’t think you would be willing to accept any of this. She thought it’d be best for you to find that out on your own terms.” … _Because he’s special. Just like you._

John turned to look up at Rudy again as he pocketed the photo, “Did Dorian know all of this?”

A slight shake of the head, “Not until a few days ago. A lot of his training memories were wiped when he got placed on the duty roster. But just like a human brain, the memories in the Synthetic Soul are stored in multiple disparate locations, anchored to many different constructs, and hard to remove completely. This whole case you two had been working on triggered a lot of vague memories and flashbacks for him as well and that’s when he came to me for explanations.”

John exhaled softly, exhausted but not really angry. “I just wish I had be told all of this sooner,” he said finally.

“Well, if that were the case, then I might have also _accidentally_ fallen out of a moving car.”

Both Rudy and John turned to the doorway. Dorian was leaning against the doorway to Rudy’s lab, body relaxed and an amused smile plastered on his mostly healed face.

“How long have you been listening?” asked John, raising up from the stool again, and steadying himself on his crutch.

“Long enough.” Dorian shrugged and walked over to John, so that they were standing face to face. “Hey, man. We good?” He extended his right hand in offering.

John was silent for a long time as they stared at each other. Strange how nothing has actually changed, and yet, everything felt different. In the end, he just nodded wordlessly and latched onto the offered hand, fingers clasping tightly around the Dorian’s thumb.

Rudy cleared his throat offered a crooked smile, “Glad we got that all worked out.”

Dorian just smiled, “Thanks, Rudy.”

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat vigorously, “thank you, Rudy.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Dorian said suddenly, as he fished for something out of his inner coat pocket and passed it to John. “I thought you might want this back.” 

John stared at the object in his hand. It was his St. Christopher medallion and it still felt warm from Dorian's body heat. The silver chain was partially encrusted in black soot, but it was otherwise intact. “I...thank you.” John said softly as he met Dorian’s gaze. He wasn’t expecting to ever see it again after the explosion.

“No problem, man.” Dorian grinned like it was no big deal. He backed up a few paces and jerked his thumb toward the doorway. “You guys feel like getting noodles? You both are reading a little hypoglycemic. It's lunch time, you know.”

John and Rudy looked at each other for a moment before John shrugged and limped toward the doorway. “Ah what the heck, sure. I’ll buy.”

“Ooh, I call shotgun,” Rudy piped in, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

“Sure,” Dorian called back, “I’m driving.”

John stopped in his tracks, a look of horror on his face. “Wait, no! Guys, c’mon, you can’t be serious. That’s not fair. I’ve got a crutch. I can’t sit in the back!”


	4. Epilogue

Soft footsteps echoed in the marbled hallway of the memorial chapel, causing John to glance over briefly. Noting who was approaching him, he exhaled softly and straightened his back.

“John.” A pause. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“Sandra,” he acknowledged.

They both stood quietly side by side for a long time, paying their solemn respects.

“They would have been proud of you, you know.” Maldonado said finally. She stepped closer to the engraved marble slab on the wall, decorated by a blue iris on the corner, and carefully tucked a small stem of orange Peruvian lily beside the iris.

John just nodded as he fingered the St. Christopher medallion in his right hand absently.

“About Dorian--” She began.

“It’s ok,” John said quickly, “I understand.” He met her eyes with a small smile. “And you’re right. The DRN is good for me.”

Maldonado studied John’s face for a brief moment. “Well, I’m glad.” She turned to leave. “See you tomorrow?”

John gave a quick nod and turned just enough enough to face her. “Saint Christopher, patron saint of travelers.” He stated and dangled the silver medallion from his fingertips for her to see. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “It was a gift from my mother to my father, hoping that it would keep him safe on the road.” He gave a wry smile before pocketing the medallion. Keeping his gaze on the ground, he gently toed the marbled floor with his boot. “Do you believe in miracles, Sandra?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she thought on the question. “I believe things happen for a reason,” she said finally.

“In that case,” John smiled, “thank you for giving me a chance--with Dorian.”

She simply returned the smile and then was gone.

John’s eyes flickered once against to the engraved marble and left out a soft huff, the smile never leaving his face. _Thanks, Dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your feedbacks. Did you like it? Dislike it? Concrit? Just say hi? I'm also open to suggestions for fic ideas as well. I'm still trying to find my groove with this fandom, but I really have to give kudos to the creators of Almost Human for giving me such amazing characters to work with. Let's keep up the fan support and hope that this series will continue on for many long seasons. 
> 
> Till next time!
> 
> Warmly,  
> truantneurite


End file.
